Mamma Mia
by merlinmercury
Summary: It was Sam's idea to get the four of them out of the house—Gabriel took over from there.


It was Sam's idea to get the four of them out of the house—Gabriel took over from there. Sam really isn't sure the bar they're in actually exists; the people occupying the tables in the background seem like extras in a scene that's quite decidedly theirs, filling up space but not really paying attention to Gabriel, Castiel, Sam or Dean. This wouldn't bother Sam if it weren't for the fact that Gabriel is prancing across the karaoke stage in a way which makes Sam wonder if Freddie Mercury was actually just the rogue Archangel having a good time all along. He's had easily enough beer to believe it. Assuming the whole establishment is a concoction of the Trickster's, then, Sam has taken to pouring himself drinks behind the bar. The bartender appears not to mind—a fact which becomes ever so slightly more hilarious to Sam after each shot and schooner he swipes.

The evening had been frosty to begin with, but melting a little of that ice was really the whole point; they need to be functioning as a team now more than ever, but lately they've been failing outright to get it together. Sam knows he's in nobody's good books since the whole Ruby debacle, if debacle could possibly begin to cover unleashing the devil and the goddamn _apocalypse_; their ties with Gabriel have only ever been a rocky allegiance at best; Dean is always punishing himself for something, if not everything, and Cas… Castiel's just been sitting alone, rigid and deadpan as ever at a table in the corner, watching his brother pound away at the piano when he stops dancing long enough to fit in a phrase. Gabriel, it turns out, can really play.

Sam's been thinking, and he's decided it would be a good idea to bring Cas a liquor store to drink. Everybody else seems to be enjoying themselves far more for the injection of alcohol and music. Particularly Dean, who, once fed half a bottle of scotch and a few words of encouragement, will happily take the stage to belt out some Kansas and strum along to Eye Of The Tiger on air guitar. Give him the other half of the bottle and he'll do it to Meatloaf. Sam wonders whether they'd have had half as much trouble keeping Michael from taking Dean as a vessel if only he could have seen that. He's vaguely disappointed that this theory can't be tested.

Sam himself is content to bob along to pretty much anything, just so long as the nice fuzziness keeps creeping inward from the edges of his mind and the world around him stays soft and dark, a bit wobbly, and lit in a sort of gentle, warm yellow that makes it feel more like a glorified memory than real life.  
_…mamma mia let me go!—Bee-elzebub has a devil put aside for meeeeeee, _sings Gabriel, whose instant outfit changes are numerous and increasingly astonishing.

Sam carefully weaves his way over to the bar again, helps himself, and then decides to take a seat at Castiel's table.

"Cas," he says.

"Sam," Cas replies gruffly, and he's always _so serious_, and Sam is struck by how wildly unfair that seems.

"Why won't you ha'fun, Cas?" Magnanimously, Sam offers the angel the remainder of his current beer. Cas just looks more uncomfortable, which Sam finds a little bit hurtful.

In the background Dean is attempting to slur along to Back In Black. Then Gabriel is standing before Sam and Castiel's table with a strange-looking drink in his hand.

"Gabril," Sam complains, "Cas won't ha'fun."

"I know, my enormous drunk puppy-dog, he can be so very dull sometimes," Gabriel pouts understandingly in Sam's direction, and Sam _always knew_ that Gabriel was a really nice person. "I whipped you up a special something, little brother," Gabriel turns to Castiel, and hands him the drink. Sam looks on with fascination at the tall, curvy glass filled with something so blue and bright Sam's not sure he would survive if he tried to touch, let alone swallow it. There's a pink umbrella perched innocuously on the top. Sam's pretty sure he can smell the thing from across the table. It smells funny.

"Thank you, Gabriel, but I do not-" Castiel begins, but Gabriel's having none of it. He hovers there and the two angels have one of their silent eyeball-conversations (which Sam wishes he could understand, because honestly they're making him feel a little bit left out) until Cas reluctantly takes the curly straw into his mouth and draws in a long sip.

It all escalates fairly quickly from there. Cas seems to really like whatever angel-mojo cocktail Gabriel's given him, because he drains his glass as quickly as Sam's ever see Dean do after an especially rough day. Sam thinks his eyes look extra blue afterwards—but then Cas' eyes are always super, super duper blue anyway so he can't be sure. Just seconds after downing the last drop Cas looks up and grins, wide and clumsy, and then stands, makes his way to the front where he waits, swaying, for Dean to finish one very energetic Zeppelin number. Then Castiel pulls himself up the side stairs onto the stage and grabs the microphone.

It turns out Cas is a big ABBA fan.

Sam's relatively confident that Dean will get over it eventually.


End file.
